Deduce Me
by YogiBeader
Summary: So far, Sherlock is asking John to "deduce" things about him. Awkward fluff ensues.


The first man in the room was Sherlock Holmes, legs askew over the arm of a couch onto a side-table. His raven curls fell across his pale forehead, casting light shadows across his face. The sandy-haired man across from him, sitting awkwardly in a large armchair, was John Watson. He was holding a dark cup of tea, rapidly growing cold in his hands. The rain outside their flat kept them from venturing out, even though Sherlock, tapping both feet, was obviously bored.

"Well, er, you've just been to the river?" John asked, unsure as to what was going on. His flatmate had asked him to try to make a few deductions. He obliged him, as it was easier to give in to Sherlock's strange requests than to question them. Last week he'd been asked to try to identify different types of fish, based upon their tail fins alone.

"Why there, Watson?" Sherlock asked, turning his head to watch John's eyes focus on his feet. Holmes had laid with his left leg crossed over right, revealing the sole of his shoe. He'd decided to give his friend a small advantage, as John _was_ playing along nicely with the experiment.

"Erm, because you've got gravelly bits under your shoe... Get your feet off of the table, by the way. We both know that you aren't going to clean it up, and neither will Mrs. Hudson. She's not our housekeeper, you know. Anyways, your footprints on the way in were damp, and you came back before the rain started," John said, rather addled. The surgery had been packed, after a small bridge had collapsed outside of London. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He had no idea where Sherlock was going with this. Usually, John was the one asking the questions about how all of the detective's deductions were made.

"Good. Obvious, even for a beginner, but a start. Now more, John," requested Sherlock, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried not to smile, obviously amused.

"You've got at least two patches on your left arm, I suppose," John replied, his eyes awkwardly wandering across Sherlock's lanky figure, looking for more clues. He wasn't used to looking at the dark-haired man like this.

"Any reason for that arm, specifically?" Holmes hoped that John would continue to answer. He saw him raking a hand through his hair more often than was usual. His friend was anxious about the conversation. Sherlock understood why he would be confused, or even annoyed, but anxious? He would find the answer to that question later. John's deductive skills came first for the time being.

"Sherlock, why are you asking me this?" John asked pointedly, further proving to Sherlock that he was anxious, or at least annoyed. John usually didn't question his odd behavior. After almost a year of living together, nothing normal was to be expected from the detective any more.

"It doesn't matter right now. I need to know. Why that arm, John?"

"Because your sleeve's been wrinkled at the elbow there, that's why. You can't have more than four going, since you're tapping your feet like you're trying to get rid of them, Sherlock,"

"Good, John! You're getting it. You might even be good at making deductions some day. Come on, a bit more, then,"

"There was a body, from the case today. You were at the morgue, you examined it," John said tentatively, not as sure about this deduction as he had been with the others.

"And how did you know that?" Sherlock asked, trying to hide his surprise at John's knowledge. He'd made sure to wash the blood off of his hands afterwards. He was sure of it.

"There's a little powder on the underside of your shirtsleeve, there. I get it when I wear latex gloves for surgery. I'm sure Molly would give you a pair if you were going to poke around inside a corpse," John said, trying to hide the smile that was playing at his lips, sparked by the visible amazement in his friend's eyes.

"Good, good," Sherlock said, drifting off for a moment. He hadn't expected John to get that one so quickly. Then again, he hadn't expected John's heart rate to rise when he'd smiled, either. The quick pulse of the veins of John's neck could have been triggered by a number of things, though. He'd try smiling again, maybe the results could be repeated. But again, that was another experiment, for another time. Back to John's deductions.

As Sherlock looked up again at the sandy-haired man before him, he noticed that John's eyes had been on the top of his head. Why on Earth would the man be studying Sherlock's hair?


End file.
